The life and times of an English Woman living in a small town in Provence

Saturday, September 25, 2010

A Wedding in Provence

A Wedding in Provence

September seems to be the month for weddings, and a few weeks ago we were invited to our first French wedding. Well it wasn't entirely French as the bride was Peruvian and the groom was half Norwegian, (half French) and the guests a mixture of all of the above including English (us, the Photographer and his Son who were staying with us).
The invitation stated that the dress code was to be 'tenue de soirée' (black tie or evening wear) which caused quite a lot of anxiety on the Artist's part. Did he even own a dinner jacket and when was the last time he wore it? Finally he managed to unearth it and inspected it for moth holes and stains from its last outing and checked that it still fitted him which luckily it did. Meanwhile, I couldn't find the dress I had planned to wear anywhere! Was its last foray that good? I wondered. I found something else to wear last minute, topped it with a hat, which a friend assured me was what people wore to French weddings (some friend!) and we set off in our finery into the hot midday sun. It wasn't long before the Artist looked like he'd just come, fully dressed, out of the shower as he sweltered in his wool jacket more suited to English country weddings and I remained the only person wearing a hat besides the groom's mother, who was wearing a headpiece!
The wedding took place in a deconsecrated chapel, which dates back to the 12th century.
The bride and groom sat in two armchairs facing the altar (or where the altar would have been) with the rest of us sitting behind them on chairs and benches which had been brought in for the occasion. The priest was from the Ivory Coast, and even though there were prayers and blessings, this was not your conventional French Catholic Service. He encouraged audience participation, throwing questions to the congregation and encouraging clapping and cheering. It did however go on for quite a long time, and we couldn't understand a word, which we put down to bad acoustics and our bad under standing (the groom's brother however later said he couldn't understand a thing either). There was much relief, especially from the children who had already wondered out of the chapel, when the rings were exchanged and the register signed to the singing of Ave Maria by the woman soloist.
Everyone filed out of the cool chapel and onto the sun drenched courtyard set amongst the olive and pine trees. The children threw rose petals over the married couple and everyone else cones of lavender that had been handed out earlier. A table had been set up on one side of the courtyard and champagne was served whilst the couple posed for photographs and were congratulated with hugs and kisses. Both the bride and groom were beaming with happiness.
After half an hour or so, the couple set off in a MG Midget trailing tin cans, with the photographer and his son sitting on the back and all the guests driving behind through the hills of the Allpilles, horns blaring and lights flashing. Cars driving towards the cavalcade slowed down and hooted back. After taking the road to Les Baux, the 13th Century city perched on top of a hill, we turned onto the road to Paradou, where we parked our cars outside the family mas and walked through the gates and into the gardens.
We were greeted with champagne and draught beer. There was a Cuban band playing to one side of the patio; appetisers were passed round, ceviche, prawn cocktail and octopus and the Peruvian cocktail, Pisco Sour.
In the late afternoon sun, with the olive groves to one side and the marquee sitting in the middle of the lawn, the lamb cooking on a spit over an open fire, the band, dressed in white playing their acoustic instruments and people dancing with children weaving in and out amongst them in party dresses, it looked a scene straight out of The Godfather.
As it was getting dark, the Cuban Band put down their instruments and a couple of Djs took over. We were asked to find our seats under the awning of the marquee. Once seated, we watched as the bride and groom danced to 'Time of my Life', from 'Dirty Dancing'. Then a singer, well known in Denmark, apparently, sang Louis Armstrong's 'What a Wonderful World' and dinner was served.
It started with a selection of cold meats and foie gras and was followed by mechoui lamb, which is slow roasted with Moroccan spices and herbs over an open fire.
After eating, the speeches began. The best man gave a speech, the bride, the groom, mother of the groom and friends. Then the father of the groom got up and started to make a speech in English about how he had eloped with the groom's mother when they were both 19, but as it was well into the evening by then, he wasn't making much sense and was dragged off by his ex-wife and daughter before he got to the end of the story. He had however been telling it to everyone earlier, so most people had already heard it.
Next, just before midnight, we were each handed a silver mask that we were asked to put on as the Hora Loca, (Crazy Hour) was about to begin. The Danish singer sang 'Wilkom, Bien Venue, Welcome' from Cabaret and then the groom's 5 year old nephew did a Michael Jackson routine to Billy Jean. After this some more singing and 'Phantom of the Opera' was sung, accompanied by someone doing a routine with a mask on a stick and a long cape and someone in a bird costume encouraging everyone to come up and dance. This was about when I snuggled down on a nice comfy armchair under the stars, the champagne, wine, good food and sun, having finally got the better of me. My last memories were of the Artist and the Photographer waving their shirt-sleeved arms to Dancing Queen by ABBA.

The next day we went back to the mas to pick up our car. We joined other wedding guests sitting round the pool; everyone was very relaxed, out of their party gear and skinny dipping and splashing in the water. Gossip was exchanged over draught beer and food form the night before. Apparently the brother of the groom had had his way with the 17-year-old baby-sitter in the pool house, whilst she was meant to be minding the babies. Meanwhile the mother of the babysitter, allegedly, had been playing footsy with the Photographer under the table!
The wedding had definitely been a good one and had all the ingredients of one the world over; love, joy, inebriation and bad behaviour!